


The Illustrious Client

by the_noble_bachelorette84



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Couch Sex, F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-18 23:58:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1447780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_noble_bachelorette84/pseuds/the_noble_bachelorette84
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly Hooper worked hard at her salon. She had worked hard all her life to get to this point. Her parents wanted her to become a pathologist, but there was too much gore involved in that profession for Molly. She had put herself through beauty school and had worked as a cosmetologist and stylist for years in order to pay for her business classes. She’d opened the salon almost five years ago and was just starting to see profits. She loved her work, and usually loved the hours, even though the days could get long, opening and closing all often in the same day. But today, a Friday, after a long week full of issues and complaints, she had received a call from a rather important person, or rather the PA of this person, who was an up-and-comer of the legal scene in London. A Mr. Sherlock Holmes. His assistant, she believed her name was Martha, insisted that Mr. Holmes would make the visit worth her time, paying double her normal rate and tipping her most generously. She agreed, somewhat reluctantly anyway, hanging up with a “he BETTER!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Illustrious Client

“D’ya want me to stay and help, Molly? Only I can sweep up for ya, fetch things, answer the phone?”   
“No thanks, Rose! Don’t you have a date tonight?”  
“Well, yeah, I sorta do. But he can wait if ya need me! He always takes me to the oddest of places anyway. Sometimes I feel like men really are from Mars! Or maybe even somewhere further!”  
“Too right, love! Anyway, I’ll be fine here. I’ve got my mace in one pocket, phone in the other, and panic button near at hand. I shouldn’t think a big shot lawyer would try anything funny anyway, but I’m prepared. You go have a good time, and don’t let him take ya anywhere ya can’t come back from!”  
“I’ll do my best, Molly! Thanks! Have a good weekend!”  
“You too, hon!”  
Molly piddled around waiting for her late client. She’d turned the “open” sign off and closed the shades. He knew to knock upon arriving. She’d had time to sweep up, refill all the comb cleaners, replace empty product, wipe down all counter surfaces at least once, and restock the store shelves. She was on her third game of Mahjong on her phone when there came a knock. Finally! She wondered if he was gonna bother showing! She flipped up a slat in the blinds on the door and saw a tall, thin framed man standing outside. His hair was dark, his face consisting of sharp cheekbones and an austere nose, almost like a hawk’s. She opened the door just a crack.  
“May I help you, sir?”  
“I had hoped so. My name is Sherlock Holmes. My PA, Mrs. Hudson said that a Molly Hooper at “Love Me ‘Do” was expecting me?” He checked the name on the shingle outside the shop, sneering a bit at the soppiness of the pun in the name.  
Molly ignored the sneer, putting on her most professional air.  
“Of course! Come in, Mr. Holmes.”  
“Sherlock will be fine, Mrs. Hooper.” He said kindly.  
“Miss, actually, but Molly will do!” She smiled.   
As he walked into the building, he surveyed her work space with a scrutiny unlike she had ever encountered. His handsome features becoming severe, and emphasized by the high collar of his Belstaff coat and the blue cashmere scarf he wore that also brought out the color of his incandescent eyes. His lean frame was so ramrod straight that she wondered if maybe his mother had taken to tying his shoulders to his chair at the table during meals when he was a child. His gait possessed the grace of a great dancer. It could almost have been classified as gliding, rather than walking. This could also have been credited to his absurdly long legs, which gave him an increased stride length, and decreased the number of steps he took to approximately half that of the average adult male. He was almost a caricature.  
Oddly enough, despite her profession, the last feature she examined was his hair. It was longer than that of most men of his profession. Curly, dark, and thick. It looked soft, too. She couldn’t wait to dive into her task. But now she thought about the thought that had just crossed her mind and had to shake her head of the images currently knocking around in it. This man was a client! She didn’t find him attractive. He was too extreme; his features and his manner far too severe for her.  
"I’ll take your coat. Would you like some tea or coffee before we get started? I’ve got a kettle boiled and a pot brewed!”   
“Oh, thank you, but no.” He said pocketing his gloves, removing his coat and handing it to her. He removed the scarf last, speedily and with a flourish, and handed it to her also. He had the most graceful and beautiful neck she’d ever seen, especially on a man. The notch where his neck met his clavicle was as severe as his cheekbones and she couldn’t help wondering how the skin there might feel and taste against her tongue.   
She had just chased this thought from her mind when her eyes fell a few inches lower and another moved in. His plain, white oxford dress shirt hugged his broad chest. He left the very top button open, giving the second button a hell of a job in containing his muscular pecs. As he placed his hands momentarily on his hips, she saw the fabric strain as the button held on for dear life. Ok, so apparently she DID find him attractive! Pull yourself together, Hooper!   
“Erm, well, alright then! Why don’t you have a seat right there and I’ll get a hot towel to prepare you for your shave.” She indicated a seat near the middle of the row of sinks on one side of the room. She turned and walked to the warmer in one corner of the salon, trying to calm herself. He’s just another self-righteous know-it-all. You know the type, or you should by now. That was the problem. She was beginning to think that this was her type. From Jim, who broke up with her over a board game that he lost, to Tom who simply couldn’t be bothered to call her and tell her himself that they were over, but ignored her until she “got the hint” according to one of his mates she saw at a pub a few months on. That’s right, months.   
She was done with intellectuals. She’d insist on a blue-collar man. A plumber may not whisk her away to the opera, and an electrician probably wouldn’t procure tickets to an art exhibit opening, but at least they’d love her. She nodded in resolve, grabbed the towel, turned on her heel, and marched back to her new client.   
But then her thoughts muddled once more. He sat leaned back in the chair, darkest denim-covered legs outstretched in front of him, Westwood suit coat draped over the arm of the neighboring chair. The absence of the jacket allowed for the observation of the powerful body currently, and she thought, shamefully, shrouded by all the evil that was that white fabric. How she wanted to pop the buttons right off and run her hands over his skin.  
Ok, enough was enough. She had to work through these observations and not let them drive her to distraction! They obviously weren’t going away, so she just as well enjoy them. She walked over to him as he finished a text and slipped his phone into his jacket pocket.  
“So, my PA told you what I needed done?”  
“Yes, she said you needed a trim and some facial hair removal. Does that sound right?”  
“Yes, definitely a shave, and some detailing, as I call it. I’d like to attend this meeting with two eyebrows, as opposed to one!” He grinned.  
She chuckled, “Quite right! Well, if you’ll lay back and rest your head on the sink, we can get started.”  
He did as she asked and she arranged the towel over his gorgeous face to open his pores and prepare his facial hair for departure. Although, his face really seemed perfect to her as it was.   
She turned on the water to a pleasantly warm temperature, letting it run for a moment, and began to wet his head. As she worked the water into his thick hair from scalp to tips, she couldn’t help noticing how soft it was. His luxurious scarf ought to be jealous of these feathery fibers. She got a dollop of shampoo in her hands and worked it into his drenched scalp. As she massaged the suds into his hair, she noticed his body language shift just a little. His breaths came slightly more quickly, he gripped the arm rests of the chair a little more tightly, and she could have been imagining it, but she would have sworn his trousers hadn’t been that snug a few moments ago.  
“Is everything alright?”   
“Hmm? Yes, fine, all fine. Why?” He said, voice muffled by the towel.  
“Oh, you just seemed a little tense, I was worried I was hurting you!”  
“Oh, umm, no, just a long day, lots of stress. It’s…it’s not you!”  
“Oh good!” She felt a little relief, but there was still a small part of her that wasn’t convinced he was being completely truthful.   
She rinsed the suds out of his chocolatey locks, got some conditioner in her hand and began massaging it in. She employed some massage techniques that she’d learned from a friend of hers, and she heard him sigh with what she could have sworn was pleasure. As her fingers entwined with the soft, silken tendrils of his hair, images flashed through her head of their bodies similarly intertwined. As a result of her thoughts, she ended up spending about double the time conditioning that she normally would.   
She rinsed the conditioner out of his hair, extremely thoroughly in order to maintain contact with him. She grabbed a towel off of a nearby shelf and began toweling the moisture out of his hair. She then gathered her shaving and “manscaping” supplies and began whipping up a shaving emollient.   
“So you are a lawyer, is that right?” Small talk was not her favorite part of her job, especially when she had to initiate it.  
“Yes, I started out with a small firm making my way to junior partner, and about 18 months ago, I started as a public defender. When I was a boy, though, I wanted to work for Scotland Yard as a DI!”  
“Really?” She said, removing the towel from his face. She began her exfoliating process, gently massaging and scrubbing his perfect face, which, upon closer inspection, did look a bit weather-worn, and in need of a pick-me-up.  
“Yeah, my dad gave me all these old spy and detective novels, and I…well I REALLY wanted to be Hercule Poirot. From the Agatha Christie stories.” He said, pursing his lips in mild embarrassment.   
“Oh, my mum used to read those to me all the time when I was young! She aspired to be Miss Marple! I could never get away with ANYTHING as a teenager! She knew as soon as I walked in the door after a night out if I’d smoked a cigarette or a blunt, not that I did this often, but a few times. And I’d even taken the precaution of changing my clothes, leaving them at my friend’s house until they’d aired out a bit and I could bring them home to wash, even cleaned up, myself!” She talked merrily, brushing soapy foam onto his face, not even realizing that she was probably over-sharing. “Anyway, enough about me! So being a Detective Inspector didn’t work out, so you decided to preserve justice in another way?”   
“If you can call it justice. It has really just been a way for me to see society at its lowest point.”  
“That must be difficult!” She let the foam set for a bit, softening the whiskers, and began inspecting his eyebrows, tweezers in hand, plucking a few strays here and there, and making sure to unmake the unibrow.,  
He gave a low hiss as one particularly stubborn hair was liberated by the root. “It can be, but so is this torture! We do what we must!”  
She chuckled, “Sorry! That one was really deep in there! So, if I may ask, why did you need all this tonight? I mean, I’m not saying you DON’T need it, because, trust me you do,”  
“Hey!”  
“No offense, but I can see the stress on your face. You could use an actual massage, not just one of the scalp and face. So why tonight?” she reached for her blade and a towel.  
“Ugh, there’s this…woman!” Molly stopped short before laying the razor to his beautiful neck.  
“Oh? I thought it was business?” Molly said, more disappointment in her tone than she intended.  
“Trust me, it’s definitely not for pleasure! She’s some sort of media person, journalist, writer, whatever. She’s of no concern to me, I just do my job and to hell with everyone else. Her name’s Addams, or Adison, or Ad—“   
“What? Irene ADLER?” she interrupted.  
“Right, you know of her?”  
“I do! She’s always got some idiotic thing to say about one person or another. She likes to get people into trouble. Exposing private facts, flaws, things you really don’t want emblazoned across the tabloid section of the newsstand.”  
“Oh, brilliant. She WILL be taking photos, then?”  
“Oh, almost certainly. She may not though! Her game is showing people at their worst, and when I’m done with you, you won’t look so much like you’ve been ridden hard and put away wet!” she winked, pulling the razor down the graceful slope of his neck.  
“You make that happen and I’ll owe you more than I’ll be able to repay!”  
Molly gave a little chuckle and finished his shave, wiping her blade on her towel.   
“Alright! Done! Now just to ease some of that irritation from all the abuse I’ve put your skin through, some after shave lotion. You don’t have any fragrance or other allergies, do you?”  
“None of which I am aware.”  
“Great, well this is really gentle, but it does have some fragrance. Let me put a dab somewhere to test…umm, where, arm?”  
“How about here? Close to the face, but easy to cover if I have a reaction.” He unbuttoned the overworked button near the top of his shirt and pulled it aside, baring his right clavicle and just a tiny glimpse of chest hair at the very top of his pec.   
“Sounds good!” She said, hopefully hiding well the gulp in her throat that she thought must have been apparent from across the room if there had been anyone there to see her. But no, there were only the two of them, and he didn’t seem to notice. She got about a penny-sized dollop out on her fingers and rubbed it in to the area he’d indicated.  
“Ok, let that sink in for a minute. I’ll tidy up my station here a bit.” She gathered and rinsed and scrubbed until the area sparkled, completely oblivious to the analytical gaze of Sherlock Holmes. He watched her with scrutiny, but also, a touch of wonder.   
“Alright, let me—what? What is it?” she said, concern flooding her.  
“Oh, nothing, it’s just…watching you work is fascinating. You take such pride in this place, and it’s quite admirable.”  
“Wow! I don’t know what to say! Just…thank you! That means a lot!”  
“You’re quite welcome, Molly.” He said with a kind smile that made it all the way to his eyes. The way he said her name! She could listen to it on a loop!  
“So, how is that product setting? No swelling? Shortness of breath? Hives? Death?” she giggled; he joined in.  
“No, I think we’re fine to proceed.” He leaned back in the chair.  
She rubbed a generous amount of lotion between her hands and worked it into his slightly reddened skin, paying special attention to the eyebrows and being sure to massage the stress from them. She applied a little more and began massaging his neck. He began to speak, and she had to force herself not to jump at the unintentional force of his rich baritone voice. She felt his vocal cords reverberate against her hands.   
“That scent is fantastic! What is it?”  
She beamed, “It’s actually my own blend. I just add fragrance blends to a base soothing cream. This is a new one I’ve come up with for the gentlemen. It has a bit of patchouli and cedar, as well as some musk, a hint of citrus, and a special super-secret fragrance that NO ONE knows but me!”   
“What? Tell me! I want to know!”  
“No! It’s a secret, I said! And this service is the only thing I have that the other places don’t!”  
“Well, I wouldn’t say that!” Sherlock said, scoldingly. “Those other places are missing a vital ingredient for success!”  
“Yeah? What’s that?”   
“They don’t have you!”  
“Now, don’t try to butter me up so I’ll tell you my secret!”  
“I would never! Scout’s honor!” He raised a salute.  
“Were you ever even a Scout?” She asked, doubtfully.  
“I fail to see the relevance in that question and thus, will not dignify it with a response.” He said, snidely.  
“Take that as a no then, shall I?”  
“Hey, what if I could guess it!? Would you tell me if I was right?” inexplicable hope drenching his words.  
“I suppose…”  
“Brilliant!” He grabbed her left hand and pulled it to his face, palm up. His nose brushing the sensitive surface of her hand, sending tingles up her arm and setting off alarms all over her body. This man could have asked her for anything at all at this point, and she would have given ten-fold.   
“Hmm, I know it, just give me a minute.”  
She would have given him days. Weeks of this intimate contact. Months of his mouth so close to her skin. What must those lips feel like? She imagined they would be soft. He clearly took care of them better than the rest of his face, at least applying lip balm regularly. She wondered what brand, what flavor he used. Ok, time to regroup! Breathe! Compose non-dirty thoughts! Be ready when he guesses so you can shoot his speculation right down and get on with this appointment! She did just that, thinking about what she would need to order on Monday to replenish supply and what bills were due this week.  
“It’s lavender, isn’t it?” pride adorning his face. He was so convinced he was right, and damn it, he was! She was taken aback.  
“Y-yes…how?”   
“I’m afraid I hustled you, Molly. My mother worked in a perfumery for most of my childhood. I know scents better than I know the law books!”   
“How did you hustle me? There was no bet. No stakes other than “tell me if I’m right!” Isn’t that usually required in a hustle?”  
“Of course it is! Are you sure we didn’t make a wager of some sort? I could have sworn…”  
“Nope! Not one whatso-bleeding-ever!” She smirked  
“Hmm, well, I’ll have to think of something!”   
“I think not, mister! Not after the fact!”   
“Oh, where’s your spirit? Your sense of adventure?”  
“Being repressed by common sense! Alright, up you get! Time for your trim, sir!”  
“Yes ma’am!” he stood gracefully up from the washing chair and strode to the indicated work station.   
She hated to admit it, but hearing him call her ma’am awakened something primal in her. She didn’t take offense at the word like most women of her age do. She had to put these thoughts aside. She was at work, doing work, on a client. She was not chatting up a bloke in a bar on a Saturday night. And following him to the chair absolutely did not help her distracted state. She watched his hips and rear as he strode. His behind was the perfectly firm, curved shape of an apple. She thought it also looked just as biteable!   
Ok, Molly. Stop it. Stop this. Think of your bills. And the laundry you have piled up at home. And cleaning your bathroom. And…and…oh, it was no use trying to think of non-sexy things when he was being so infuriatingly sexy right in front of her. What the hell, she thought. Why shouldn’t I flirt a little? Then she remembered. She couldn’t flirt. Wasn’t good at it. At all. Small talk, sure, she could manage that if she had to. But flirting, especially in this environment, was difficult for her. She’d just continue to be awkward and ineloquent. Maybe that would work on him.  
“So, just a trim? We’re keeping this shape?” she said, slinging her cape around his body and fastening the snap at the base of his neck.  
“Yes, if you would.”  
“Sure!” she ran her fingers through the locks to get an idea of where she was headed and where she should start. She combed through the strands and began to hold it up in sections, trimming where needed.   
“So was there any reason in particular that Adler wanted to interview you? Have you had any high-profile cases? Are you dating anyone of political or social importance? On the recent list of London’s most eligible bachelors?” she chuckled.  
“Embarrassingly enough, that last one, mostly. But also I represented a friend of hers in a case recently. Normally I don’t take cases with such potential for publicity or scandal, but this client was difficult to resist…and I really can’t say much more. Thankfully, the case was hushed up a lot more than the powers that be can usually manage. Adler did get wind of it, though, and the bachelor angle is basically a scapegoat. I honestly don’t even know what I’m going to say!”  
Molly pondered as he spoke, trying to deduce the kind of case that would elicit such a reaction and what kind of person could manage this kind of leverage.  
“Oh, you needn’t worry about what to say. Adler will lead you where she wants you to go as easily as if you were on a leash. Just follow your instincts and say everything in your head first once or twice to make sure it’s not going to ruin anyone’s reputation, including your own. If you need a moment, just use those vamping statements that sound good, even though they’re meaningless. Like, ‘Well, that’s a good question, but a difficult one for me to answer because there are certain things about that topic that have always pulled me in different directions, both morally and economically.’ And so on and so forth until you run out of non-descript phraseology, or until she stops you, or until you work out what you want to say.”  
Sherlock just looked at her in utter amazement. How was this beautician making such profound suggestions about his life?   
“You are brilliant, you know? How did you come up with all this?”  
“When I was in business school I took some pretty intense psychology classes and some very specialized political science classes. Plus, I’ve watched a lot of court dramas on telly!”  
He sniggered. “You’re so bright! You could have been in law or medicine, anything you wanted! And not that this isn’t a wonderful goal to have set for yourself and achieved, but why did you not aim much higher?”  
She pondered an answer for only a moment. “I considered taking the medical path, which is where my parents wanted me, but ultimately, I didn’t think it would make me happy. I worked in a salon a few summers during school just doing odd jobs like sweeping, stocking, cleaning, and eventually became a shampoo girl. I got to watch the stylists take an ordinary person and bring out their extraordinary side and decided that’s what I wanted to do. Deliver a self-esteem boost to a mother of three, or a sweet young woman who’d just been horribly dumped. Even make the men feel a bit special when they sit in my chair. You blokes need a boon now and then, too!”  
He nodded almost imperceptibly between snips.  
“I suppose,” she continued, “that instead of a job in law or medicine, what I really wanted was just to be happy and to make others happy, as well. You know how little use people have for lawyers as a rule, no offense. It’s undeserved in most cases. And doctors are getting to be as poorly treated, some of which is deserved, but a lot of which is not. I couldn’t see myself in a position where making someone happy was a near impossibility.”  
“Well, I’m sure you do make a lot of people very happy. But now for the question that matters most. One you may not feel comfortable answering me, since we’ve only just met, but here I am, asking anyway. Are YOU happy?”  
Molly stopped a bit short. It was a rather impertinent question for such a new acquaintance to ask, but somehow, she felt like she could trust this man. She thought for a moment and answered somewhat tentatively, “Yes.”  
The slight hesitation did not pass Sherlock by. “You hesitated. That means you’re either lying or qualifying. Are you happy, Molly Hooper?” She turned on her trimmers to give herself a moment and began cleaning up the shorter hairs where his neck and skull met.  
“Professionally, yes. I’m running a successful business comparatively quickly out of the gate. My employees respect me amicably and are happy in their employment to my knowledge. My customers rarely complain with the exception of this week, which has been a busy one for the complaint box. And I have sufficient trustworthy staff to take a vacation if I feel the need for one, which I rarely do, at least for more than a day. There’s not much more I could ask for in a career. Which, I guess that’s what you were asking, so any other unhappiness I might face is irrelevant.” She held up a mirror for him to check that the back was to his liking.  
“Yes, that looks great. Thank you! Now, back to your reply, what makes you think that your personal happiness isn’t just as interesting or important to me as that of your professional life?” She met his almost sad gaze in the mirror. Care apparent on his face. It did seem to matter to him, her personal life. She couldn’t yet fathom why.  
She began brushing her trimmings off his back and shoulders and unfastened the cape from around his slender neck which she currently had equal desire to wring and kiss.  
“It didn’t occur to me that someone such as yourself, or indeed anyone at all other than my family and closest friends, would care how I feel about my life outside this building. I just assume people think I live here, because I practically do. Other people don’t care about the number of times I’ve been on a date in the last five years, or the fraction of those times that I’ve been in a relationship at all. They don’t care about the scant number of times I’ve been kissed and touched and loved any more than I care the same of them. Not that I don’t care, it just doesn’t usually cross my mind unless…”   
She had been examining her shoes during this monologue until that last word. She looked up at Sherlock, who had a gently glowing fire behind his eyes. She thought it must be a caring or sympathetic glow.  
“Unless what?” Sherlock asked, insistently, when she didn’t immediately resume. He stood up from the chair, stood directly in front of her, and waited for her reply.  
“Unless…oh, it doesn’t matter.” She had come so close to telling him ‘Unless someone like you comes into my life, no matter how briefly, and makes me melt into my shoes and feel things that aren’t decent for working hours,’ but she didn’t. Probably for the best. There was no way he would—  
“Doesn’t it? Matter?” he lifted her chin so she was looking into his aquamarine eyes with her chocolatey brown ones, and he lowered his mouth toward hers, not quite meeting her lips, but allowing her to come to him if she wanted. And did she EVER want!?   
She buried her hands in his still slightly damp hair, and pulled him to her, planting her lips firmly on his. They simultaneously parted their lips to deepen the kiss. Her fingers explored his scalp in a much different way, now. She heard a guttural moan come from the body opposite her, and he pulled her closer by her low back. Their bodies crashed together, unable to get as close as they longed to be, at least not through layers of clothing. He lifted her up and spun her around to the counter in front of the chair he’d just vacated, placing her bum on the top of it. She wrapped her legs around his waist pulling him as close to her as she could, fingers still fondling his sensitive follicles.   
She was certain now that they were sensitive because, aside from his reaction to the shampooing, he now reacted to every movement of her hands with a whimper and a squeeze of her hips. She could see bruises in her near future and couldn’t find a single care in her yearning body. His hands found their way under her shirt to her bra clasp. His fingers resting over the closure as if to await permission to continue. She gave it to him by gently scratching at the short hairs at the base of his skull. He’d unhooked it in what couldn’t have been a whole second! His nimble fingers followed the indentation left by the undergarment on either side to her tender breasts. He kneaded them gently in time with the rhythm of their kiss.  
She broke away from the kiss, panting, gasping for air, but he just started devouring her neck and nipping at her jawline.  
“There’s a couch in the break room.” No seven words had ever caused her more pleasure to utter.  
He paused, looked up at her, and stepped back as she unhooked her ankles from around his hips.  
“After you.” He gestured her from the counter with one hand, holding out the other to help her down.  
She took it, hopped the short distance to the floor, and walked her best runway walk through the salon to the back. She slid the strap of her bra off one shoulder, slipped her arm through, and pulled it out her other sleeve, tossing it up in the air. Sherlock took an extra step forward and caught it. They couldn’t see each other’s expressions, but hers was a look of smug satisfaction, and his of gleeful admiration.   
The break room was partitioned off by a curtain rather than a door. Molly opened it, revealing a spacious leather couch against the wall opposite the doorway. She stood in front of it right in the middle and turned to face Sherlock. His face intense, as if he were already making love to her. He tossed her bra to the floor, took two impossibly long strides across the room, and grabbed her face, planting the kiss to end all kisses on her eager lips.  
Her hands pawed at his shirt, trying to find some buttons to undo. She opened his shirt to reveal the solid, well defined upper body she had expected, and pulled away from his mouth to plant wet, tongue-touched kisses to his chest. He groaned at the act, threading his fingers into her long, light brown hair. But apparently, her lips were needed elsewhere. He pulled her back up to continue their kiss. He wrapped an arm around her waist, planted a foot on either side of both of hers, and leaned forward until her knees buckled and she was seated on the sofa. He followed so closely that their lips barely broke contact on the way down.  
He kneeled over her, straddling her, never stopping the dance of his mouth with hers. She reached up to his shoulders and slipped his shirt off them and down his back. He removed it the rest of the way, tossing it somewhere on the floor. He grabbed her face at her jawline, deepening the kiss. She didn’t need to go farther than this. This could have been blissfully eternal. His mouth on hers, forever. But that didn’t mean she was disappointed by what happened next.   
Sherlock grasped the hem of her T-shirt, pulled away from her mouth, and slowly dragged the fabric up over her head, exposing her abdomen, breasts, and shoulders. They both stared at each other’s topless forms for a moment, Molly bit her lip so as not to smile too widely at the marble sculpted torso in front of her. Jackpot! He gently took one breast in his hand, steadying it for his mouth. He leaned down and worked his lips and tongue over her nipple, which was almost painfully stiff from arousal. He stroked her opposite thigh with a light pressure that drove her mad. When that side became almost desensitized, he moved to the other leg and breast.   
He grabbed her around the waist and upper torso and pivoted her on the cushion, laying her against a throw pillow and the soft arm of the sofa. It felt like he was going to snog her right into the leather beneath her!   
It had been so long since she’d been like this with someone. Someone who wanted her so urgently that he couldn’t wait to get her totally unclothed to get off with her. His legs and groin were positioned perfectly against her to make the most pleasant friction. Their hips moved rhythmically together to a crescendo, and she was actually concerned that there might be an actual fire between them.   
He gently ran his hand down the side of her body that was not facing the back of the sofa. He caressed her side, and when he got to the waistband of her jeans, he slipped his hands under all fabric, over her hip, and around to her backside. He squeezed with his hand as he bit her lip and she came apart beneath him.   
“Mmmm, Sherlock!” she moaned into his ear. Hearing his name like that must have done something to him, because a moment later, he tensed and cried out, burying his face in her shoulder. As they both slowed their breathing, she stroked his neck and head.  
“Wow, that was-“ she stuttered.  
“Wasn’t it?!” he chuckled.  
He kissed her cheek playfully, then her chin, down her neck, between her breasts, and down her abdomen, dipping his tongue into her belly button. He positioned his face over her warm, denim-covered body, and put his mouth directly on the bottom of her fly. He kneaded her there with his mouth, exhaling damp heat through the thick fabric of her jeans, as well as the thin cotton of her panties, trapping it against her skin.  
He cruelly removed his mouth, but then undid her jeans. He moved back up to her face, caressing her cheek and extending the touch down her body, slipping his hand under her panties and making contact with her moist flesh. Her breath caught as he grazed a bunch of nerves with his thumb, then repeated it. And again. He continued the movement, and then curled one finger to find another bundle of nerves that wasn’t in quite as obvious a location. As he moved his fingers, he kept up a barrage of kisses to her neck, ears, and finally focusing on her lips, breaking contact often to keep her in suspense. He picked up the pace with his hand, adding another digit to the mix, and he felt her breaths come more frequently. He increased his pressure ever so slightly and she came for the second time that hour.   
Wow. I didn’t even know that was possible. I’ve been missing out! And we’re still half clothed! What am I in for!?  
“For this next part, these trousers might be a little in the way…also, we need something to put over this sofa…don’t want you to have any awkward conversations with your employees…or an upholsterer!” they chuckled.  
“There’s a basket of clean towels right here.” She said, pointing to a basket right in front of the end table. She had washed them, but hadn’t quite gotten to fold them or put them away, and for once she didn’t regret it! Nobody better tell me ever again that procrastination never pays off!  
Sherlock could easily reach the basket. He pulled one from it and laid it on her stomach while he pulled off her jeans and knickers. He tossed them aside, like all the other discarded garments the evening had seen. He stood to unbutton and unzip, but Molly hopped up, dropping the towel on the couch, and stopped him.  
“Oh, allow me!” she roughly and speedily unfastened the bottoms and tugged them down until they paused at his knees. She straightened out the towel and pushed Sherlock down. He landed with a huff of air, and she straddled his lap immediately, kissing him, hovering teasingly over him. She stopped cold.   
“Wait! Do you have-“  
“This?” Sherlock held up to fingers, in between which was a gold foil packet.  
“What the-“  
“Fun fact about me, Molly, dear, is that I’m top at sleight of hand. Fingers like lightning!” He smiled mischievously and winked.   
How did he do that? She went from indifference to this man to being well on her way to in love with him in what couldn’t have been more than 90 minutes!  
“Oh, trust me, you’ve already proven the worth of your fingers! Let’s see what else you’ve got that’s like lightning!”  
He unwrapped the prophylactic with his teeth and donned it in seconds.   
She lowered herself slowly onto his lap and let herself get used to the sensation of being inhabited, then she began to move against him, his hands on her hips suggesting a pressure and pace, but still allowing her the control.   
All the stress of her week melted from her as they moved together. Sex had never done this for her before. Drove all of her problems from her mind so that she was focused only on the body beneath her and the bliss it was causing her.  
He pulled her body to his and buried his face in her shoulders, kissing and sucking at the soft skin there. She clutched at his back as she headed for release. She chanted his name almost under her breath, getting louder as she got closer. He breathed hers like a prayer in her ear, and she came into her third climax of the evening. He followed right behind her, holding her tightly to him, almost afraid to let her go.  
“Well,” she said panting, “Would it be terribly cliché to tell you that I never do things like that with men I’ve only literally just met?”  
He chuckled, “Yes, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a reassuring fact for me!”  
“Oh, god! Your interview! How late are you?”  
“Oh, I rescheduled that a long time ago.” He smirked, running his fingers up and down her spine as they sat, still connected on the sofa.   
“What?! When did you have time to do that!?” She leaned back, looking at his passive face in utter shock.  
“I texted Irene while you were getting my hot towel. Told her I thought we’d better reschedule, that something terribly pressing had come up, and that I was terribly sorry.”  
“Was she angry?” Molly asked, almost hopeful.  
“Couldn’t tell you. My phone is still in my jacket.”  
“So, did you plan on making love to me this whole time?” she was a little concerned that she’d come off as desperate or easy in some way, or that he was just a playboy who just wanted meaningless sex.  
“Well, plans…tricky things, plans. They don’t always go right. Best not make them if you can help it, unless of course you want to build something like a house, or a bridge, or—“  
“Sherlock, we’ve established that I’m familiar with the stall technique, so cut the bollocks.”  
“Very well.” He sighed. “I knew there was a chance for a few reasons. The blinds were closed, in your shop front. I’ve gone by this place hundreds of times at various hours of the day and night, and I’ve NEVER seen those blinds closed, suggesting that you either consciously or subconsciously hoped that I’d be “doable,” which, I assumed right away that you found me so, because of the way your cheeks flushed and your pupils dilated when I first came in, despite my chagrin at the name of your establishment. The name which is the third indicator that a “hook-up” was likely. “Love Me ‘Do” obviously you’re a Beatles fan, using the play on the word ‘do’ that forms the second half of the word ‘hair-do,’ quite clever by the way, to use a catchy song title on your signage hoping to bring in more business, but also, unwittingly indicating your status as a romantic by choosing that song over the hundreds of other songs in that catalog. The credo of these musicians is that ‘all you need is love’ and since they also tended to be associated with a somewhat free love philosophy, it was safe to postulate that you might also be free with yours. And although that last reason was a bit on the rude side, for which I apologize now that I’ve gotten to know you better, in every sense of the phrase, the most important sign is this fourth one. The one that has to do mostly with me, and the fact that the moment I looked into your eyes tonight, I felt as if I were coming home. I was at immediate ease with you, Molly, and I grew more and more taken with you as the time passed, and I knew that even if the evening didn’t end with us taking each other’s clothes off, that I was going to have to figure out how to spend more of the evening with you, ditching that wretched woman, for sure, and maybe seeing if you wanted to have coffee.”  
Molly stared at Sherlock utterly dumbstruck. She had kept up enough to be livid when appropriate, but ultimately had to forgive him in light of his concluding statement.  
“Wow…that was a lot to…wow.”  
“What can I say? My inner Poirot just resurfaced after a long hiatus. I told you I’d aspired to be a detective inspector!”  
“Well, then, maybe we should go in the proper order and have dinner first. Then maybe coffee. And then if that goes well, maybe I’ll give you my number!”  
“Oh, I think I’ve already got your number!” he chuckled, grabbing behind her neck and pulling her in for a kiss.  
And he was completely right. He knew she was attracted to him before she knew herself! Who knew deduction could be a form of seduction?

Epilogue  
As the two continued their love-making, they were oblivious to the muffled sound of the cracking of a whip coming from the pocket of a crisp coat hanging over the arm of a shampoo chair.   
The device within had received a text.   
The display showed the contact and message.

Woman: “Sorry about dinner.”


End file.
